Dufaii - The Patron Saints of the Damned Book I

“For millennia, Dufaii and I planned the assassination of each and every god left upon the Earth. We waited until, through madness or corruption, each was in a state where they would not be missed. And then we took their lives.

It seems a grim matter … and it had its dark moments. However, my friendship with Dufaii kept me going throughout it all. As he’d said all those years ago, sometimes he had to encourage me through the hard times and sometimes I had to encourage him. But with the two of us, there was no target we could not overcome. And at some point so fleeting that we nearly missed it, that friendship became something more.

So perhaps our fate … the curse put upon us by one of the last remaining gods … was cruelly poetic in its nature.”

–General Ammon in letter 30,567 to General Hades

-O-

Dufaii woke from a dreamless state of nothingness. The rarity of unconsciousness, which came about only through significant trauma to his metaphysical form, made this a matter of note and concern to him even before he opened his eyes. He could not yet remember what had brought him to this point … which indicated that he had sustained head trauma with aftereffects that would endure until his brain resumed regular function and form. One of these aftereffects was a dizzy sensation that made him feel like he was floating as he laid with his bare back on cool stone. It felt like there was a crack in the stone.

Dufaii’s arms and legs would not move and felt like they were bound. The air around him was muggy and humid, with countless insects buzzing around him, some even dropping onto him from time to time. There was a stink on the air … musk, smoke, and piss that he associated with large human kingdoms. But there was another smell, the pungent odor of old blood and decaying flesh. Dufaii opened his eyes and found himself staring up at the night sky, the stars slightly occluded by the lights from torches around him.

“Don’t bother with trying to break the binds,” said Ammon. Dufaii looked over to see that his partner was laying on his back as well, tied to what looked like a stone altar. His bloody arms and legs were bound with metal so that his chest was exposed; his wings were bound as well and splayed uncomfortably beneath him in a gross reminder of why most demons did not lie down in such a way. His armor had been torn away and left in a heap beside him. “They’re tight enough to hold a god.”

Dufaii took more careful note of his own body and found that he had been bound in an identical fashion, his chest exposed to the muggy air. He recognized the altars by their stonework now … he’d seen them at the top of a pyramid as one human had been sacrificed by another. The pyramid rose high above the surrounding jungle and city, above the thrum of human life emanating from below.

This country was the home of a great number of the older gods … including Tezcatlipoca. The god they’d come here to hunt was renowned as a powerful and violent presence with a legion of undead human soldiers who followed his every command. This magic was something new, and part of thgeir goal had been to find out how the god commanded such an army with such a singular will. Then, of course, they would destroy him and secure a demon foothold in the new world.

“I should have had us begin with a smaller job,” Ammon continued, his voice raw. He sounded angry at himself but subdued, like he was trying to formally accept responsibility.“A surprise blow against the gods would have been significant, but we didn’t have enough information about what we were up against.”

Dufaii shook his head, trying to plan out what he would say given that one of the gods was surely listening, all the while trying to think of a way out of the situation. He said, “We share in the risks, in the planning, and in the consequences. For now, we do the same thing we’ve always done.”

Ammon nodded and cleared his throat. Then, with a calmer tone, he said, “We deal with the present. Though a speech from you certainly means you think we can survive this.” A curl of his lips indicated amusement, as much as he could afford given the situation.

“A misplaced optimism,” said someone standing behind Dufaii’s head. He inclined his head at an uncomfortable angle to see a being who stood at least fifteen feet tall, several heads more than any demon. His chest was bare, and his lower body was covered in a dress of bones that were tied together in patterns. He wore a short cape made of the skin of jaguars. The bones adorning this being did not seem to be human; they were those of monsters. Among the hundreds of bones were the skeleton of a fanged vampire, several dragon claws, and finger bones from giants. The being’s face was like that of a person but painted with yellow and black stripes. The colors and the jaguar cape were the signature emblems of the god they’d come in search of, Tezcatlipoca.

“You don’t babble like a god afflicted with madness nor overcompensate like one drunk on power,” Ammon said. His tone was light without being mocking … almost like he was a doctor speaking to a patient and trying to figure out their problem. Ammon had shown great proficiency in charisma early on, which they had used for the downfall of various gods. It seemed as good a skill as any to employ in their current predicament. He continued, “Still, you threaten, which doesn’t speak well for your state.”

“The threat does not come from me,” Tezcatlipoca replied, removing a knife tucked into the bone dress behind him. It was a long needle-shaped weapon, long enough to be a short sword in the hands of a demon. It was that it was gold … a soul weapon. “I’ve sought as much information as I could as your demon empire has grown. Watching the extinction of my kind at your hand has been enlightening on several levels.”

How had this deity found out about all that? Dufaii supposed that it was impossible to hide his involvement after so many millennia and so many gods. His tone calm, he tried to press for more information. “The attacks won’t end with us. With the scattered remains of your kind having fallen mostly into madness, the demon empire will quickly clean out the last of the gods. Perhaps Heaven will finish the job if they can overcome their renowned lethargy. So, if you want to plead that you are still of a sound mind to demons who will listen, now is the time.”

“I am indeed of a sound mind,” Tezcatlipoca replied. Oddly, he sounded calm—neither paranoid nor delusional. It was as if he believed them … and just didn’t care. “But unlike most of my brethren, I do not hold survival in such a high regard. Apocalypse is coming, something far beyond the measly threat of a few insane gods. And to stop it, I must have puppets so that I can go where the gods cannot. I tell you so that you understand that I do not hold you in contempt. You demons have played the role in saving the life of this mortal world. I value that. However, it is the turn of the gods to must play our last card in the salvation of our planet.”

This … this was far more terrifying than anything Dufaii might have expected. He writhed and flexed every muscle in his body. As he did so, he felt the chain binding his creak from the pressure, and the crack in the stone altar beneath him widened a little more than what it had been. He strained until he felt his shoulder pop, causing him to shout out in pain. Then he stopped and gasped for breath, feeling blood drip from where metal cuffs had cut into his skin.

Tezcatlipoca lifted his knife swiftly.

Dufaii braced for the weapon to impale him but was more shocked when the old god plunged it into his own breast.

Tezcatlipoca cut down to his own sternum and then cracked the bones with horrific crunching sounds. Then, he reached into his red chest. But Tezcatlipoca did not remove the silver orb that was his soul—divine shard and husk wrapped as one. Instead, he began to cut a small tendril of light through the center. Was … this how he had turned humans into his infamous army of undead slaves?

“No,” Dufaii said, though he felt breathless. He wouldn’t allow this god to control him … to turn him into a pawn for madness or against his own kind. He struggled more, tensing all his muscles and widening the gap in the crack beneath him with another audible crack. Doing this against his dislocated shoulder was agony, but he couldn’t stop.

“Would you like to know how, after all these years and making so many servants, I have not succumbed to madness? How I have managed to take shards of the divine when no other god has been able to?” Tezcatlipoca asked, a small piece of his soul split off. He dropped his weapon to take a piece in his hand. Then he walked to stand over Ammon and, after a moment of pause, forced the piece of soul into Ammon’s mouth.

“No!” Dufaii screamed, pulling so violently against his minds that he could no longer distinguish what was him breaking and what was the altar. Water pooled in his eyes—burning hotly as his world felt to be crashing around him once again. “Leave him alone! Leave him!”

Ammon gurgled as the light and bloody flesh were forced into his mouth, and even more so when the old god pressed his finger inside to make sure it all went down. Then his struggling slowed, and his head drop to the side so that he was facing Dufaii. A gold color fell like a drop into his oily black eyes and began to swirl around. Then he whispered, “I see now … the Creator must be destroyed.”

Tezcatlipoca then carved into Ammon’s chest and took a piece the same size as the one he’d given. He it and crammed it into his mouth—a mix of red and black blood smearing around his mouth. Once he was finished consuming that piece of Ammon’s soul, he finally continued, “The way I stayed sane was that I never broke the balance within. I never lost how much of the Creator’s divine shard was within me … nor gained any more. I traded equally. It is simply an unfortunate reality for those that those I traded that the soul of a god is so much denser than the soul of a mortal … or a demon. Still, I feel their influence and pains like the chirps of birds within my mind, just as I will feel yours when you are mine to command.”

Tezcatlipoca carved a second piece of silvery soul from his chest and lowered it toward Dufaii’s mouth.

But, at the last second, Dufaii jerked his torso with the slack he’d gained by dislocating his shoulder and breaking the altar in several places. He fastened his teeth around the god’s smallest finger and bit down until he felt the bones crunch between them.

Tezcatlipoca roared in pain.

Dufaii kept a tight hold on the god’s flesh with his teeth, tensed the muscles in his neck, and braced as best he could for what would come.

Tezcatlipoca pulled back with the tremendous strength only a god was capable of.

Dufaii screamed into the flesh he bit into as his body was pulled with violent and explosive force. He pressed his good arm and his legs up into the metal braces with all his strength, feeling the metal cut into them but not for long. The stone cracked around the shackles and they popped open. It was Dufaii’s dislocated arm and his wings that were shredded by the metal. Most the meat that comprised his hand was shaved off, along with several fingers. And his wings were sliced off just above the first joint, and left as nubs on his back. It was the most excruciating physical pain Dufaii had ever endured. But he was free.

Tezcatlipoca jerked his arm away with a second sharper motion, throwing Dufaii across the stone floor. Then the old god picked up his dagger and approached. He lifted Dufaii by the throat, returning him to the broken altar, and slammed him upon it—shattering the stone further. By now, it was cracked into several chunks. Then Tezcatlipoca took his discarded golden soul dagger. He seemed to think better than to try to force the demon to eat the piece of soul in his other hand. So, instead of doing so, he plunged the dagger into Dufaii’s chest.

Now it was Dufaii’s turn to cry out in pain.

Tezcatlipoca cut and sliced until he was able to pull Dufaii’s still-beating heart free.

Dufaii struggled to draw breath. All he could do was wait and feel as his heart was bisected, and a piece of soul removed.

Tezcatlipoca dropped the knife and brought the sliver of Dufaii’s soul along soul to his mouth. With his teeth, the old god bit in, creating a spark as he chewed it. Then, he re-carved a piece of his own soul and pressed it into Dufaii’s heart. Only once they had fused did Tezcatlipoca return the beating heart to his chest.

Dufaii clenched his teeth tight, feeling the waves of pain, power, and fury wash over him. He did not merely feel them, he drank them in and filled himself with the power of his ancient rage mixed with the old god’s strength. He felt one of his molars crack against its opposite and then explode in his mouth. His muscles bulged and seized with the power as the old god’s influence began to spread in his mind, like being psychically linked to the thoughts and feelings of someone so powerful that their mind threatened to wash out his own.

But Dufaii drew more heavily on his rage and on the pain he had endured. The storms … the mock trial meant to bring shame upon his people … the millennia spent in a lifeless prison of pure darkness … helplessness as his kind turned to drinking the blood of humans … every vile act he’d seen the mad gods commit since.

Dufaii screamed and shot his good hand into Tezcatlipoca’s exposed chest. He felt a rib and twisted it until he broke it free. He then pulled it out and stabbed it into the old god’s neck.

Tezcatlipoca reeled, gasped, sputtered. He looked around for his dagger.

Dufaii rolled off the cracked altar and crashed to the ground on top of the dagger. He grabbed it and pressed upward into the old god who stood over him. He cut into Tezcatlipoca’s chest and sliced wildly until he was sure he had severed the old god’s heart from the rest of his body.

Tezcatlipoca could no longer even gurgle by this point, he just seized in place for a moment before he collapsed beside Dufaii. Within minutes, his metaphysical form began to fade and his soul … mixed with that of so many humans and of two demons … ascended into the sky.

It was a few moments before Dufaii could drag himself to his apprentice, and perhaps it was only the wrath coursing through his body which allowed him to do so. He used the golden knife, already dissipating with the ascending soul above, to smash open the metal shackles around Ammon’s wrists, legs, and wings. Then he dropped the knife, pried Ammon’s shackles away, and whispered, “Are you alright?”

Ammon did not respond at first. He looked around groggily, but then his eyes flared with cyan. In one swift movement, he sat up, took the knife, and slashed Dufaii across both black eyes. With the voice of Tezcatlipoca, Ammon said, “Open your eyes, stupid creature. The threat to us all is the same person it has always been. Apocalypse is coming and the Creator must be destroyed.” There was a sound of wings spreading and moving into the sky.

Then Dufaii was blind, alone, and able to hold only to his rage to keep the influence of the god inside himself from taking control. His desire to take his partner by the back of the head and bash his face against stone until all of the cyan was gone from them.

-O-

“Thus demonkind lost one of the most efficient alliances it ever formed—and a friendship that had, in truth, brought hope to our people still imprisoned in Hell.

Ammon, for his part, became obsessed with the end of existence. All his previous intelligence was there but … tainted … forced onto a delusion that the accursed god had left within him.

Dufaii became consumed by a rage against that delusion—and thus against his former partner and friend.

It’s almost ironic. All their lives, Ammon and Dufaii had been, as the humans might describe, Yin and Yang. Two opposite parts of a whole. Ammon was the heart which fueled Dufaii, who was their backbone.Dufaii was the efficiency of killing while Ammon dreamed up elaborate plans that turned their undetectable assassination of gods into performances of art. In everything they did, their friendship and their alliance made them complete.

Perhaps there was such a duality in Tezcatlipoca as well. I think so. My theory is that part of him must have worried that his delusions of the end of existence were just that. I think maybe he hated himself. And unfortunately, he gave that self-loathing into what had been the united force of Dufaii and Ammon.

Being a friend to them both, I think my vantage as to the effect of their falling out made it particularly difficult to watch. I had to watch Dufaii lose the one bit of connection he had been able to make through his trauma. I had to see Ammon lose his beautiful and brilliant mind … and the one friend grounded enough that he might have made Ammon see the light.

Yet … they had accomplished what they set out to do. Yes, a handful of gods remained in hiding, aware of the silent threat that had exterminated their kind. But the Earth was entirely free of their influence and power.”

-General Hades in Private Journal 3666

-O-

Centuries passed in the blink of an eye, as they do in the satisfaction of every waking moment spent committing violence against their enemy. That was exactly what Dufaii had done—killing every last god, alone. His partner was long gone … though Dufaii saw Ammon in the cyan eyes of every deity who heart he carved out.

Finally finished, Dufaii stood in the garden of the Lightbringer’s palace. At some point, the cavern ceilings above had been adorned with torches that burned in artificial constellations, giving the illusion of a night sky. These along with torches nearby cast a soft orange glow on the area in which Dufaii found himself. He understood this to be the quiet side of Hell, long abandoned by the rest of demonkind in favor of a city run by General Hades. He’d returned a few times throughout the millennia, most often to gather soldiers for operations against gods that could not be killed cleanly.

Though Dufaii could have only described what he saw around him as a garden, it was truly more of a macabre work of art that was the closest thing to life this realm had to offer. The pathway upon which he stood looked like it was made of round polished stones like what could be found on a stone beach. Of course, there was only one kind of stone in Hell, the jagged gray variety. The false stones he stood upon were made of the bones of countless human souls–the anthropomorphic forms they took once the wisps inside of them were able to manifest as people again in a spiritual realm.

On both sides of the path and in every direction for an acre, there were millions of bushes, flowers, small plants, and even trees in shades of white, pink, brown, and red. These colors speckled the garden with the most vibrant colors that could be achieved by painting bone with blood.

A closer look at one of these plants revealed the intricacy of its design. Each leaf was delicately carved almost as thinly as paper to the similarly fashioned stems. A few of the flowers bore resemblance to ones that Dufaii knew, but most were original works from the imagination of the craftsman who had probably not seen real flowers in quite some time. Nevertheless, they were as beautiful as anything he had ever seen. These flowers, leaves, and stems were motionless in the dead realm, but the sound in the garden brought the illusion of life. Small streams of blood meandered between the plants and alongside the path, producing a peaceful trickling sound.

A small and frail demon whose skin, robes, long hair, and wings were all white tended to the garden. He worked meticulously, using a small brush to clean dust from the delicate sculptures. He did not look at Dufaii. This demon had an energy to him … one that was more connected to these plants rather than to anyone around him. It was like he was alone except for his precious flowers.

Dufaii saw a second demon reach the far edge of the garden and then enter. Without having to look hard or even feel this demon’s energy, he knew by the walk and the general shape that it was Ammon. He walked with a proud and regal stance, taking confident strides forward. These days, his shape had taken a form to match his walk. His hair had become a full, kept mane—complete with a short but full beard. His body was muscular and tall. His armor was shining black with only chips and scratches that he’d purposely left from significant battles against the gods.

Though Dufaii did his best to remain calm, he could not help but envision himself cramming the barbed, false roses on a nearby sculpture down his former partner’s throat. His own eyes still burned sometimes … and had been marred from the attack all those years ago. White ribbons trailed horizontally across Dufaii’s otherwise black eyes. And despite having tried to change his form like he had to make them black in the first place, the painful scars always returned. Reminding him that he was not entirely demon … not anymore.

The Lightbringer entered the garden immediately after, no longer the blue being of beauty nor the terrifying bald creature without eyelids. He was a gold tiger with perhaps a heftier and more powerful build than a natural one. Like his forms of old, the shape was beautiful in a bestial way. He walked on four legs with a slow and graceful stride alongside Ammon until the two of them stopped in front of Dufaii.

The Lightbringer sat on a stone bench alongside the path so he could address his guests at eye-level. His countenance was calm and his emotions indiscernible given his feline features. His aura and his emotions were contained as well, completely blocked off so that they could not be sensed. He said, “You both know why I’ve brought you here. The conflict between the two of you has grown to a point of alarm.” He gave a slow and deliberate blink.

Dufaii noted the oddly calm and reasoning nature of this tiger incarnation of the Lightbringer; it was one of the few incarnations since the Second Storm who could be described as such. Dufaii had heard about this Lightbringer in passing. The tiger had contributed much to building up Hade’s kingdom and improving the conditions under which demons lived. He’d even arranged with the Archangels to allow a few demons at a time a period of reprieve in the mortal realm, cycling out so that each one could visit the surface and be free from their prison for the first time since their banishment without formal assignment. Unfortunately, this incarnation which had worked hard for many years to unify and make amends did not likely have much time left before he was reborn into something new.

The Lightbringer faced Ammon and said, “Your views that we cannot survive here are shared by many. You may have heard that the souls of some demons have begun to crumble. It’s why I worked endlessly to attain the rights of reprieve for them. Still, I fear that the degradation of demon souls will one day become an epidemic if something does not change.”

“Then join me,” Ammon said, his tone sounding like he was trying hard to sound assured and even inspired. But there was an edge to it as well, a desperate undertone that was perhaps only detectable by someone who had worked alongside him for as long as Dufaii had.

The Lightbringer shook his head. “The answer is not through war with Heaven—which will be the only possible result of any attempt on the Creator’s life. Perhaps … bargaining with the Archangels so that we can leave Earth and perhaps this universe altogether. We know that some of the gods already have.”

“With all respect, Lightbringer,” Ammon said a little too quickly before forcing himself to take a deep breath. “The Archangels work with us now because of this brief period of unity you’ve provided. When things are back to normal and we must worry about you stabbing us in the back, we will have no position to bargain by. And even if we did … and we could escape … the rapidly approaching end is not something we can escape through space. Apocalypse will come for us all.”

The Lightbringer sighed and then motioned with his head at the tunnels they’d arrived by, and which separated this quieter part of Hell from the city. Teams of demons had been digging in the stone when they’d arrived—creating a confusing series of tunnels they would have been lost in had it not been for the workers. Then the Lightbringer said, “I’ve instructed Hades to turn my palace into a prison … a maze to contain me. Our people will no longer have to fear my invading their sanctuary. Hell will remain united under her leadership. And if that does not suffice, I would ask on my honor that the two of you destroy me.” His striped tail darted back and forth.

Ammon shook his head. “In doing so, we would lose the only weapon the Creator fears and our access to the mortal realm. If we destroy the Creator, not only would the end be avoided, but we would be free. We could undo the damage we’ve done to human society and allow them to grow. We could begin to wash our hands of the blood we’ve spilled to survive in this place.”

“And why, Ammon, do you want to help the humans?” asked the Lightbringer.

Dufaii’s eyes narrowed and, in his anger, he replied before his partner could. “Perhaps it’s that you’ve traded so many pieces of your soul with the humans that they have become a part of you. Maybe they have joined that dead god in becoming the madness that takes control in your moments of weakness and which clouds your mind with these delusions. Delusions that you cannot even explain to yourself.”

Ammon opened his mouth widely to speak what seemed like it would be a passionate defense, but then stopped. He drew a slow breath and said, “I don’t know how it will happen or how I know it … but Apocalypse—the end of the world—is coming.”

These words triggered something inside of Dufaii. He found himself again strapped to that altar with his hand and wings shredded, unthinkable pain going through him. He felt his own icy hot rage burn against the attempted control of the old god, the only think keeping him from becoming a puppet. His breath quickened, he struggled for air though he did not need oxygen. His heart raced hard enough to hurt. All he could do was shout out in anger and project his fury outside himself, “The Ammon I know is dead; and you are no different than any of the other maddened ones!” He grabbed Ammon by his armor and felt like he could enjoy nothing other than to cut out his former partner’s heart.

“Dufaii…” The Lightbringer said.

The mention of his name gently stirred Dufaii from the cloud of darkness that had come over him. It took him a moment like this to realize that he was holding his hidden dagger to Ammon throat. His fists were trembling, and he had drawn a bead of back blood from his former partner’s neck. Dufaii slowly released his shaky grasp on the armor, folded his arms, and looked down so that he could not see Ammon’s face.

“This cannot continue,” the Lightbringer said once the tension had passed. “Our people need their generals—the two of you and Hades to be united … whatever the future holds in store.”

“There won’t be a future so long as the Creator is breathing. The memory is real!” Ammon shouted and his aura glowed with an indignation that did not feel like any sort of projected emotion he had ever created on his own before the events which scarred him. “If you had looked into that old god’s eyes and seen what I’d seen, felt what I felt. If that feeling were inside either of you, you’d do EXACTLY what I am now!”

The Lightbringer exhaled deeply. “I need a private word with each of you. If you would excuse us, Ammon, I will speak to you in a moment.”

Ammon stared for a moment, his hands balled into fists. After a few seconds, he looked down at them, loosened them with an expression of surprise, and finally departed in silence.

Once he was gone, the Lightbringer shook his head and said, “I need to know more about what happened to the two of you if I am to fix him.”

Dufaii squinted his eyes and looked at the cliffs in the distance. He had not talked about what had happened all those hundreds of years ago.

“Both of you were different after that,” the Lightbringer said and began to pace slowly on all fours—quite literally like a caged wild-cat. “Your bouts of rage and the scars on your eyes. Ammon’s obsession with destroying the Creator. What happened?”

Dufaii thought for a moment to decide how much he felt was safe to tell. Though he hated to admit it, his former partner had been right about something. This incarnation of the Lightbringer was a rarity and would not last forever. Dufaii had to be careful about how much information he shared; there was no telling if another more power-hungry incarnation would come along later and use that information for the detriment of demon-kind.

After thinking for a moment, Dufaii replied, “Of the gods in the new world, Tezcatlipoca was the most powerful—humans sacrificed to him by the millions. But he wasn’t maddened … and he was smart enough to anticipate our arrival. We were captured.” He paused to determine what he should say next.

“Go on,” the Lightbringer said.

Dufaii nodded. “What he did to those humans … what he wanted to do to us … he put a piece of his own soul inside them in exchange for theirs. This balance—never losing power like the gods who created other life, and only gradually attaining power by the empires who worshiped him willingly. This partial trade of souls was enough to take complete control of any human and to imbue them with some of his power.”

“But not to control a demon,” the Lightbringer said with a slow nod.

“No,” Dufaii said. “Just enough to influence our thoughts … and, inadvertently, to empower us to finish our work in destroying the rest of the gods while divided.”

“So, when did Ammon begin to use Tezcatlipoca’s power on humans?” the Lightbringer asked.

Dufaii sighed as he remembered the first. “The first was a human warrior … indigenous and native to the new world. The human wanted revenge on a minor spirit that preyed on his kind, that had killed his entire family. Yet Ammon didn’t control him. He created a bond with the human; their power, emotions, and spiritual stability influenced one another. That was how it went for a while; a handful of humans was all that he bonded to … each a warrior against the lesser remnants of the old gods.”

The Lightbringer mused over his words for a moment. “I’ve heard that Ammon has made such links with many more humans recently … perhaps several dozen. They were not warriors, not even humans of sound mind.”

Dufaii clenched his jaw … trying hard not to let this news affect him. The gods were all but dead, and there were hardly any traces of them left on the earth. Monsters and spirits and everything not born of the Earth herself was pretty much extinct. What reason could Ammon possibly have for risking the demon dominion of their kind by letting humans know he existed? Especially in this modern age where evidence could so easily be gathered. He was a fool! But then … if this wasn’t Ammon modus operandi, was he even the one choosing?

Likely picking up on his thoughts, the Lightbringer continued. “You insinuated that Tezcatlipoca and the departed humans connected to Ammon are taking over his mind in moments of weakness. I wonder if it is the old god choosing the mentally unsound because he knows that they will affect Ammon’s mental well-being and create more windows of opportunity to act.”

The Lightbringer’s face grew more concerned as he mulled quietly. After several minutes, he shook his head with a look of pity. “I need your help to fix this problem, in whatever measure that may entail.”

“As you said,” Dufaii said, exhaustion heavy on his shoulders as he did. “The old god is alive and acting in me as much as in Ammon. At first, an inner sense of rage protected me from his control. Now … I’m not so sure that Tezcatlipoca isn’t now fueling it to gain control of me just like Ammon. I’ve been thinking that … I may be as much a threat to our kind as he is. I can’t allow that to happen.”

“What are saying?” the Lightbringer asked.

“I’ve decided to exile myself.” Dufaii said, looking up and tightening the muscles in his jaw. “Let me find a dark corner of Hell where only Kueng can find me. He will not give me any news about what is happening here or with Ammon. I’ll continue advancing research for demonkind while I work to just forget … and hopefully forget my rage.”

The Lightbringer sighed heavily as he gave a long and slow shake of his head. He looked up at the distant torches burning like constellations above. “You have my permission to leave … but not to fester and die in this cursed place. We both know that the whispers of divine condemnation will never let you heal here. And, as I said, our people need their generals.Go back to the mortal realm, report to Kueng as you have said, and rest. Wait for Hades to summon your return. I have formally transferred all power and authority of my station to her. I’ve decided that any demons who do not accept this transfer of power will be summoned here when the maze in finished … to be trapped inside here with me. If all goes according to plan, my next incarnation will be trapped in this prison and your brethren will never have to fear the Lightbringer again. The rest of Hell will be united, and you will be able to lead our people to freedom. Hopefully, I can figure out a way that Ammon can be there alongside you.”

Dufaii nodded … still somewhat unable to believe that a good part of the Lightbringer had survived after all this time.

“Please … work to forgive Ammon,” the Lightbringer said and looked out at where he stood outside the garden. “You feel hatred for him for the pain he caused you. But all of that … it’s only the old god fighting for control of him. He is not maddened, and he did not ask for this.”

“I will try, Lightbringer,” Dufaii whispered though his blood burned at the idea of it. He nodded deeply and looked the protector spirit the eye for what he knew would be the last time.

The Lightbringer looked back and, for a moment, revealed a fraction of the aura that he hid. It was thick and cold, like icy frost, with sharp clusters of what felt like crystals in several places. It was loneliness, it was fear, it was physical pain from the exertion of keeping everything together. This incarnation was falling apart and wouldn’t last much longer. Yet he spoke just like the Lightbringer of old. “Our plight seems desperate. Still, never forget what we talked about so long ago.”

“We always have a choice,” Dufaii said and swallowed the dry air with painful difficulty. Not from the dryness itself, but from the sorrow welling inside of him.

“Even when it doesn’t seem so,” the Lightbringer replied as the fur on his face went gray. He looked to the corners of his new prison for a moment before veiling his aura again and turning away.

-O-

“Dear Dufaii,

I’m glad you encouraged us to begin writing these little notes to one another. When we’re working and absolutely crushing these so-called deities, our comradery is nice. But it kind of overshadows deeper feelings … ones I wasn’t sure you shared for a very long time.

You’re strong and wise, and I don’t think anyone could miss that. But the vulnerability in your letters … that’s what made me fall in love with you. Now, as we carry on with our banter, covered up to our elbows in the blood of gods, I know there is so much more happening inside you than what you know how to say. And … for the first time … I’m happy.

-Ammon

(Personal letter 5, from General Ammon to the Godkiller. Found between the pages of a research journal in Dufaii’s research hut.)